Later
by JamiW
Summary: NOT part of the series. First-time scenario one-shot. BA. Timeline, although mostly irrelevant, is post-season 5.


**A/N: Complete and utter PWP. Mitzvahgirl needed a pick-me-up, and I needed a break from plot. Although it isn't mentioned in the story, picture Bobby wearing his blue-striped button down, and his coat that he unfortunately gave to his brother in "Brother's Keeper". Timeline, although mostly irrelevant, is post-season 5.**

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**Bobby POV**

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A smart guy like me sometimes has trouble being impulsive. Doing something reckless or daring.

I mean, I do it at work without a second thought, but that's different.

I don't take risks in my _personal_ life.

But tonight, I did.

And maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it made me a little less smart. A little more courageous.

Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Hell, I was ecstatic.

What did I do that was so audacious?

I kissed Eames.

We were walking home from McMillan's after Jimmy Deakins' going away party.

Or rather, we were walking back to _my _place but only because it was closest. She'd driven to the bar, and there was no way that she was getting behind the wheel in her condition.

So even though it sounds suspect that we were drunkenly leaving a bar together to walk the four blocks back to my apartment, when we made the decision to do so, it was still innocent.

_Then_.

But that was before I'd stopped her on the sidewalk to finish buttoning up her coat. It was pretty cold, after all, and she had only managed to do it up halfway.

So when I noticed this oversight, I guided her to the edge of the sidewalk and went about finishing the job. I hadn't considered how close it would bring my fingers to…areas of her that I _did not_ touch.

Hell, who am I kidding? I didn't touch her _anywhere._

"You're pretty skilled," she said wryly as she kept her head down, watching the progress my fingers made.

Her words were slightly slurred, but for the most part she sounded normal. Like Eames.

"Yes I am," I agreed.

And for some reason, the words came out sounding so much more suggestive than I intended.

My hands paused in mid-button, the one that was positioned between her breasts.

I raised my eyes to gauge her response to my flirtatious-sounding remark, and I watched as she slowly lifted her eyes to meet mine.

I have no excuse for what I did next. I'm going to blame it on the liquor.

Not the act itself, because I'll admit it. I've wanted Eames for a long damn time.

But the fact that I _let_ myself…that's what I'm pinning on the Scotch.

Because when our eyes locked, it was like a switch had been flipped somewhere inside of me. I let go of her coat and slid my hands up and into her hair, tilting her head up as I brought mine down.

And I kissed her with everything I had.

The thought briefly crossed my mind that I hadn't given her the chance to refuse.

But this was Eames. If she didn't want me to be kissing her, I'd be doubled over holding onto what was left of my balls right about now.

And besides, she was kissing me back.

As that thought zipped through my head, I was hit with a flood of arousal that had me backing her up against the brick wall of the bank we'd stopped in front of.

I entwined my fingers into her hair and used the leverage to change the angle of the kiss. She moaned her approval and grabbed onto my hips, pulling me tighter against her.

I wished desperately that there weren't so many layers of clothing between us.

I wanted to feel her skin beneath my fingers.

I wanted to touch her everywhere.

I wanted to taste her everywhere.

That last thought brought about a new realization. She tasted of Irish whiskey.

She'd had a lot to drink. And here I was molesting her out on the sidewalk.

She was my _partner_. I was supposed to be looking out for her, not taking advantage of her.

I quickly ended the kiss and took a step back.

We were both breathing heavily and as I looked at her, I tried to remember if I had ever wanted any woman as badly as I wanted her.

I hadn't.

"Eames…" I began, utterly ashamed of myself and yet still completely turned on. I watched her face as I struggled with words, and I was amazed by her undisguised look of lust.

"We need to get home before someone sees us," she said as she cast a glance back towards McMillan's. We were only two blocks from the bar and there had been plenty of cops still there when we left.

She turned and continued walking down the sidewalk. I fell into step beside her, and my mind was a jumbled mass of inconsistencies.

She was drunk. _She wanted me_. She's my partner. _She'd kissed me senseless_.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

But even in my state of confusion, I was glad I'd taken the step.

Because she wasn't mad at me. So even if I never got to kiss her again, I would have this one experience to remember.

But despite my exhiliration with my uncharacteristic boldness, I was at a loss as to what would happen next.

As it turned out, I didn't need to worry about it. Eames took the lead.

We got to my building, rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, and then went down the hall to my apartment.

Once inside, she grabbed my coat and pulled it down my arms. Before it hit the floor, she was once again kissing me, and if I thought she was good the first time…now she'd plastered herself against me and was running her fingers into my hair, completely taking control of the kiss.

It didn't surprise me that she liked to be in charge, but at the same time, I did too.

So without ending the kiss, I stepped into her and walked her backwards until her backside hit the kitchen table.

I frantically unbuttoned those buttons that had gotten me in this situation to begin with and then worked her coat off of her as quickly as possible.

It wasn't fast enough.

She was trying to get me out of my shirt, and she wasn't even wasting the time to push the buttons through holes. Instead, she just pulled on the fabric until the buttons went flying and then she hurriedly yanked it from my arms.

Not wanting to be outdone, I picked her up and scooted her onto the table. I ran my hands under her sweater, finally satisfying my earlier craving of feeling her bare skin.

I moved my lips from hers, and worked my way down her throat. She let her head fall back, giving me full access to her neck so while I used my teeth and tongue to explore this new territory, I settled my hands on the hem of her sweater.

And then for some reason, I hesitated.

We were getting to the point of no return here. We could probably write off a drunken make-out session as no big deal, but if we started taking clothes off…there would be no going back. Not for me any way.

"I know you haven't forgotten how to do this," she commented in true Eames fashion.

"It's just that…I don't want you to regret it."

"You're worried about me?"

"Always," I admitted. "You've had a lot to drink."

"So have you," she countered.

"The liquor might've given me the nerve, but not the desire. It's been there," I confessed. I needed her to know the truth.

"For me, too," she replied sincerely. And then she put her hands on my face and kissed me again, this time more slowly, infusing meaning into the action. She gently moved her thumbs back and forth across my cheeks and then pulled away to whisper, "I want you."

Any remaining willpower I had went out the window with those three little words.

And so did the leisurely pace.

My hands were spurred into action, quickly removing the sweater that was still in my grasp. At the same time, she was working on pulling my t-shirt from the waistband of my slacks, but once she had it out, she let go and instead started loosening my belt.

I needed to take control again, or it was going to be over much too quickly.

I didn't know if we would ever get back into this situation again, so I was going to make the most of it.

I mean, I _hoped_ that we would. I hoped desperately that this would be a daily occurrence now, but I wasn't going to get ahead of myself.

Right now I just wanted to focus on being able to last longer than two minutes.

"You've got to slow down," I ground out as she pulled the leather from the loops.

"I don't want to," she replied, equally emphatic. She tossed the belt behind her and then grabbed my t-shirt and pulled it over my head.

I stood still and took in the often-imagined but never-before-seen sight of her, sitting there in her bra and jeans, while she ran her fingers down my chest and then began unhooking my slacks.

"If you don't…" I warned.

But then words left me as she pulled down the zipper and reached inside my pants, clasping her hand around me. The thin layer of cotton that was the only thing keeping us from being skin on skin wasn't enough to stop the fire that was ignited by her touch.

I closed my eyes and bit down on my lip. Hard.

I frantically fought for self-control, wanting her to stop and yet at the same time, wanting her to _never_ stop.

"Alex…" I moaned, and I took one more second to enjoy the sensation and then I put my hand over hers to stop the motion.

I opened my eyes and met her challenging gaze.

"I wondered what it would take for you to call me Alex. Now I know," she said with a sexy smile.

I reluctantly pulled her hand away from me, thinking that I was possibly the biggest moron in the world, but I just didn't want it to end that way.

I had other plans.

My slacks were in a puddle on the floor, so I stepped out of them and then eased her back onto the table and worked on getting her out of her jeans.

And I didn't stop there. I kept going until I had her completely bare, laid across my kitchen table.

There were so many things that I wanted to do to her that I couldn't decide where to start.

I leaned over her, with my hands braced on either side of her head, but then I had to hesitate and just look at her for a moment.

Because I was suddenly nervous.

I mean, I knew women. But I didn't know _this _woman. Not in this capacity anyway.

I had no idea what kinds of things she liked, what she expected from a lover.

I hid my uncertainty by leaning down to kiss her again. I tried to take it slow, but she ran her hands down my back to the edge of the waistband of the only remaining item of clothing left between the two of us.

Then she traced along the band around to the front before slipping beneath the barrier and touching me for the first time.

All rational thought was gone.

Our kiss became more heated and I was once again working on borrowed time. And I wasn't ready for it to be over, so I shifted away from her, just enough to be out of reach.

"I still have things I want to do," I whispered into her ear, and I loved the subsequent shiver that went through her at the sound of my words.

"Later," she told me. The implication sent another shot of pleasure through me, and yet it also caught me by surprise.

"Did you think there wouldn't be a later?" She asked me as she moved her hands up into my hair.

"I wasn't sure," I admitted.

"I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

"I live here," I replied with a grin.

"Well there you go. So we'll have later. Right now, I want to..."

And she leaned up to say the words directly into my ear as she once again slid her hand inside my boxers.

I'd always imagined that Eames might like to talk dirty, but I'd greatly underestimated the effect it would have on me.

Her words in conjunction with her hand wrapped tightly around me...let's just say we were almost going to have to wait until _later_ for everything.

But I held off.

And then she sat up and pulled my shorts down in one fluid motion.

I stepped out of them and before she could protest, I picked her up.

Her legs automatically wrapped around my waist, and I reveled in the feeling of holding her in my arms.

It was funny to think that before tonight, we'd never held each other at all, much less naked.

But I had more important things to do than analyze the situation.

"Table's too short," I rasped out in explanation as I turned and walked further into the kitchen.

She didn't seem to mind that I'd picked her up. In fact, she kissed me with an increased fervor that made me think maybe she liked the overtly masculine move.

Like I said, I still had a lot to learn about Eames in this arena. The first thing was probably that she'd rather me call her _Alex_ while I was making love to her.

And then I had to repeat that phrase in my head just because I loved the sound of it.

_I would call her Alex while I was making love to her... _

My kitchen was not often used for actual food consumption, so case files and police reports littered the counter, but with one hand I swept everything out of the way and set her on the edge.

And the height of the countertop was perfect.

Without preamble, I pushed into her, both of us groaning in gratification. She had her head back against the cabinets, so I started kissing her neck.

"Alex," I said softly in between kisses, for no reason other than that I wanted to say her name.

Because somewhere along the line, we'd gone way past just having drunken sex.

As if that could ever be all that was between us.

We were too closely entwined. We may be coming at this thing back-asswards, but I had to believe that it might actually go somewhere.

As I stood there thinking about how incredible it would be to be able to make love to Alex every night, I realized that if I had expectations of being allowed a repeat performance, I should probably make sure that this first one was encore-worthy.

Because I still hadn't moved yet. Instead I'd stayed fully inside of her, cataloging the sensation.

But then she brought her head down and met my gaze. Her eyes were so filled with emotion that just looking at her nearly did me in.

"You need to move," she told me.

She didn't have to tell me twice.

As much as I would like to say that I was able to hold out for hours, astounding her with my incredible prowess as a lover, that's not exactly what happened.

But it was the most intense and satisfying fifteen minutes of my life, and according to Alex, of hers as well.

And as we stood there in the kitchen, with our hearts pounding and each of us struggling to catch our breath, I was hit by a feeling of euphoria.

_This was a good thing_. She and I could _really_ have something good together. A solid relationship built on years of friendship.

"You're staying, right?" I asked her, glad that I asked the question before I overanalyzed the intelligence of it. If I'd thought about it for too long, I probably would've chickened out.

"I hope so. You promised me a _later_, right?" she replied, running her hands along my sweat-slicked back.

"I think _you_ promised _me_," I reminded her.

And despite the fact that we'd only finished a few minutes before, there were signs of life in me that indicated _later _may come sooner than either of us expected.

I leaned in and kissed her again, just because I could. I loved the idea of that, that I'd be able to kiss her whenever I wanted to.

It was possible that I was getting ahead of myself, but judging by the look in her eyes and her response to my kiss, I didn't think so.

"It's later," I told her as I picked her up and carried her down the hall. "I'll do it right this time."

"You did it right the first time," she assured me.

"Are you sure?"

"Well," she began with a grin as I set her down on the bed and then stretched out next to her. "I don't want to rush to judgment. Why don't you show me again?"

**The End**


End file.
